


Dance with me

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [21]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dancing, Diverges after 4x1, F/M, Fluff, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 08:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21491080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: It is Jaime and Cersei's name day celebration, and Jaime harbours a secret wish to dance with Brienne.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483640
Comments: 16
Kudos: 124





	Dance with me

**Author's Note:**

> Another one that was gathering dust in my folder for weeks. Thank you for reading and hope you like it.

Jaime’s eyes swept the hall once more, just minutes after his last survey.

There was no dearth of beautiful women clad in their best to represent their houses, his sister standing out among them all, resplendent in the prettiest gown and jewellery gold could buy, but something was missing, _ someone _ of significance to no one but him.

Every few minutes he kept scanning the entrance, searching the crowd, meeting nothing but a fresh wave of disappointment each time.

Almost everyone invited was present. Everyone except _ her_. 

Hours had passed, yet there was no sign of Brienne. Had he inadvertently said or done anything to offend her again? The doubt began to strengthen in his mind, his past sins weighing down his conscience as the numerous instances he’d mocked her stood in front of him, loud and clear, taunting him, flooding him with guilt and regret.

“Seven blessings to you, Ser Jaime,” said a young lord whose name Jaime couldn’t recall, disrupting his concentration, “and may you live to celebrate a hundred more such memorable days.”

_ Are you blessing me or cursing me, _Jaime felt like asking, appalled at the prospect of spending the next hundred or so years without the hand that defined him. “Thank you,” he replied, nevertheless, driving away the sarcasm that waited at the tip of his tongue, ready to pounce on the poor unsuspecting man who meant him well. 

“Ah, here you are, Jaime.” 

It was Tyrion this time, wading across a sea of people to approach him, and Jaime’s companion slid away after a polite nod, leaving him alone with a glass of wine and his all-perceiving sibling. “Strange, isn’t it?” he remarked, his shrewd eyes digging far into Jaime’s, making him squirm like a boy caught playing mischief.

Jaime was determined not to let his brother intimidate him into a corner. “What’s strange?”

“Cersei’s all decked up and glowing,” observed Tyrion, shooting their sister a discreet side-glance, “for you, I presume, but for some reason, you don’t look happy.” Shuffling closer, he peered as if he was reading his mind. “You look lost, as if you’re searching for someone,” he surmised with uncanny accuracy, “and it’s not difficult to guess who.”

“I’m not,” Jaime hotly denied, pissed that his thoughts were loud enough for everyone to hear. “It’s just my addled mind, nothing more--” He paused when he noticed Tyrion grinning for no reason at all. “What?” he demanded, his brother’s behaviour multiplying his irritation. 

“Look over there,” said Tyrion, nodding in the direction of the entrance.

In, she came, looking as uncomfortable as she’d been in the pink abomination she’d once been forced to wear, her gait not unlike a man's even in the feminine garb she'd tortured herself with. Dressed in no more than a plain blue gown that brought out her lovely eyes, she looked out of place among the dainty young ladies in all their rich finery, but her simplicity was a breath of fresh air in the blatant spread of vanity he was surrounded by, the innocence and purity she exuded placing her far above some of the most beautiful women around. 

She glanced left, then right, presumably in search of a familiar face before bustling past the crowd to the nearest corner she could seek refuge in. 

“Are you just going to stare at her from a distance all evening?” teased Tyrion.

Jaime hastily returned to the glass he’d been holding in the same position for a while. “I’m not staring,” he told his drink, feeling utterly stupid about his pathetic attempt at a lie. “I--” 

Before he could defend himself further, the music began playing, followed by the guests arranging themselves in a formation, and he found himself gazing at the wench again, slipping into another trance of admiration for her, wishing, for one fleeting moment, that they were one of the couples who had gathered to dance.

“Go on,” prodded his brother, correctly sensing his longing, “ask her.”

Jaime pulled away his gaze to glare at Tyrion. “Don’t be silly. I can’t just walk up to her and ask her to dance with me.”

Tyrion put his glass down on the table. “Why? Are you worried that our sweet sister might hurt Lady Brienne if she came to know of your feelings for her?” 

“Yes,” Jaime spontaneously replied, and upon realizing that he’d succumbed to his brother’s impeccable interrogation tactic, he resorted to a, “I--I mean no,” a half hearted attempt at a denial.

“Since you're so thoroughly useless, I have no choice but to act on your behalf,” Tyrion volunteered, and before Jaime could object or react, he set off to meet Brienne.

The next few moments were among the most trying he had been through, every second that passed no shorter than a year. He watched his brother slip into an effortless conversation with the wench, smiling to himself at the sight of the smile that lit up her face as soon as Tyrion made her comfortable. Even at this distance, her eyes had the same intoxicating effect on him, and Jaime found himself melting, hoping she’d comply and do him the honour he craved. 

Their little chat went on for a while, and Jaime had his eyes fixed on them, studying them closely, trying to lip-read, to make sense of what he could see, but not hear. His brother was as amiable as ever, engaging the reticent Maid of Tarth more than anyone else ever had. 

Everything was going well until her expression abruptly shifted, the smile disappearing like it had never been there, and within no time, she had withdrawn into a shell, reverting to the stoic exterior she usually wore.

_ Damn! _

He took to carefully examining every twitch, every movement of her facial muscles, her hands, the way her shoulders stiffened and the shadow that engulfed the brilliance of her eyes, cursing his brother, hoping Tyrion hadn’t ruined it all instead of making things easier for him. Blinking rapidly, she pursed her lips, and even from afar he could see her uneasily shifting her weight, her fingers clenched in a fist. A quick flustered glance in his direction told him that her change in demeanor had everything to do with him, but giving him no chance to find out what had suddenly gone wrong, she turned tail and fled.

Darting up to Tyrion who was smiling after her, he demanded, “What the hell did you tell her? And why the fuck are you so happy?”

Tyrion didn't answer, his eyes fixed on the exit. “I just exchanged a few pleasantries with her,” he replied after a while, still looking infuriatingly gleeful after all that had transpired. “I asked her about her father and--”

“What else?” Jaime cut him, in no mood for small talk.

“I told her you wish to dance with her.”

“And what did she say?” Jaime asked, worried if his innocent request had put her off so much that she found it necessary to leave the hall.

“She politely declined.”

“Oh,” mumbled Jaime, deflated and thoroughly disappointed, Tyrion’s inappropriate smile beginning to get on his nerves. “Is that why she huffed away like that?”

“Ohhhh, no,” Tyrion drawled, his twinkling eyes telling Jaime that there was more to this mysterious conversation than just a request for a dance. “Her abandoning me had nothing to do with that.” 

Jaime bit his lip, bracing himself for unexpected revelations that might strike him unawares. “Do you plan to tell me why?”

“I told her the truth, brother, because you lack the balls to admit it to her.”

Blood pounding through every vein that ran beneath his skin, Jaime suddenly felt dizzy. “What do you mean?” he still dared to inquire.

“I told her that you’re in love with her, then followed it up by asking her if she loves you too,” said Tyrion, the annoying smile still plastered on his face. “She said not a word, but blushed and bid me a hurried goodbye, which means--”

“What does it mean?” Jaime asked, his discomfort submerged under the nagging curiosity and the ache to find out more. 

Tyrion chuckled. “Why don’t you find out for yourself? You know where to find her, so why don’t you go up there and have a proper chat like grown-ups do instead of acting like a cowardly squire who’s never been with a girl before--”

“I can’t,” snapped Jaime, helpless. If only he could just walk away from Cersei’s prying eyes. If only he could leave everything behind and lose himself in the wench’s lovely gaze. “What if--”

“Go,” Tyrion insisted, “I’ll make up an excuse on your behalf. I’m quite good at such things.”

“Cersei expects me to be with her tonight,” Jaime muttered under his breath, audible to no one but his brother, “a special _ something _for our name day--”

“--something you don’t want anymore,” Tyrion added. “Break free of the shackles that bind you to her, Jaime, and be where you truly belong.”

That, along with a reassuring wring of his hand, was all the encouragement he needed from Tyrion, and Jaime set off to seek her out, his brother’s blunt revelation opening his eyes to what lay buried beneath his undying dedication to his sister. 

_ How could I not have seen it all these days? _

Panting, he dashed up the stairs, tackling two at once, each one he ascended bringing him closer to the moment he dreaded as well as eagerly anticipated. 

_ How could I have let this simmer away, putting Cersei above what my heart desires? _

Another floor, he mentally counted, rushing upstairs, never stopping, not even to catch his breath.

_ How did I not realize I’ve fallen for her? _

Halting only when he met her door, he clutched his chest, drawing in a deep breath before gathered the nerve to knock.

There came no response, nor even a sound from inside, nothing, except another wave of dismay that hit him like a wall that brought his thinking to a standstill. In the deathly silence of the passage, he could hear his pounding heart. An ominous drumbeat, it felt like, an indication of--

Refusing to give up, he pulled himself together and knocked again, then waited this time too, each second more tormenting than the one that preceded it. 

The door creaked open, and he heaved a sigh of relief, his agony, at last, meeting its death when blue eyes peered at him through the gap. “Ser Jaime?”

“You refused to dance,” he straightaway accused her, making his way in. “Why?”

Closing the door, Brienne followed him inside. “I don’t dance.”

“Why?”

Her expression shifting, she inhaled sharply, the brilliance of her eyes shrouded by a veil of gloom. “That isn’t something I want to discuss.”

“Why?” he demanded again, making himself at home around her. “Did you expect me to mock you?”

“It had nothing to do with you,” she said, her voice breaking. “It’s--it’s private--”

“After all we’ve been through with each other, you think I wouldn’t understand?” He couldn’t help feeling upset and offended that she didn’t trust him enough to speak of her problems.

Her eyes were storm clouds. Agitation, he could see in them, and pain, perhaps, triggered by the memories that bothered her. Something more than that, there was too, something he wished to understand and be a part of. “I don’t dance,” she repeated, her voice shakier than before.

“Was it the boys when you were younger?” he prodded, anger rising up his chest when he pictured the japes she might have had to endure. “Did they--”

“Yes.” Her voice lay bare her emotions and the weight of the insults she’d carried within her all these years. “They--” she broke off mid-sentence, then looked away from him.

Jaime tentatively approached her, for the first time in his life, invoking all the Seven, hoping and praying that this wasn’t a huge mistake or a misunderstanding. “Brienne, look at me,” he said, laying his hand on her shoulder.

He could feel her muscles relax under his touch. “It happened years ago,” she recalled, the sadness in her voice tugging at him, drawing him closer to her than he’d ever felt before. “Renly had come to my rescue. He did me the courtesy of dancing with me when all the others--” she trailed away, her words replaced by laboured breathing.

He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Look at me, wench.” When she slowly turned to face him, her cheeks the colour of a beautiful sunset, he plucked up the courage to ask, “May I have this dance with you, my lady?”

Her eyes went round, but the storm had passed, doubt and disbelief, the only emotions left in them. “You jest--”

“I do not,” he said firmly, taking her hand.

Her breathing quickened. “I can’t--”

He inched closer, threading his fingers in hers. “You can.”

“This isn’t--” Her mouth fell open when he slipped an arm around her waist. “These aren’t the steps. I wasn’t taught--”

“This isn’t anything like the dance that’s going on downstairs, wench,” he whispered, searching her eyes for signs that told him this was a terrible blunder. When none came, he went on, his confidence, for a change, soaring to the skies. “It’s far more than that. Just you and me and nothing to bother us. No mean boys. No Renly. No Cersei. No one.” 

Caught in his gaze, she blinked a couple of times. “But we have no music,” she argued weakly, making no attempt, however, to fight his grasp or resist his advances.

“We don’t need any.” 

She blinked again, and he waited. She swallowed, and he wished for this to end well. She dropped her gaze to the floor, and this time Jaime held his breath, fervently hoping she wouldn’t turn him down. 

At last, she brought her shaking hand to his shoulder and her restless eyes settled on his, granting him her unspoken consent.

What came next wasn’t something Jaime could easily forget. Not that he would ever want to, of course.

He led, and she followed, matching him step for step, move for move, as skilled in the art as any other lady he’d danced with.

He twirled her along the floor, and she went where he took her, her body falling in line with his, attuned to his as if they’d been doing this for years.

He pulled her to his chest. A delicate maid, she was not, the difference in their heights more obvious when they stood next to each other, but she slid gracefully into his embrace, melting into him like they were meant for this, the disparity between them fading into nothingness the moment he’d enclosed her in his arms.

They danced away with abandon, finding no need for a beat or a rhythm, swaying to the music within them, their feet, their bodies and every part of them aligned to the tune their hearts hummed in unison. Blissfully oblivious of the revelry downstairs, they were immersed in each other, neither having the wish to stop nor bring this magical moment to an end, their eyes locked in an unbreakable bond, each pair penetrating the other, asking questions, finding answers, saying so much without a single word.

“That was wonderful,” she breathed, her face more radiant than the full moon that graced the night when he brought them to a halt. 

“We should make this a habit then,” he panted, still holding on to her like his life depended on it.

Splotches of pink decorating her cheeks, her reply was a coy, “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“You know very well what I mean, wench,” he challenged her false show of ignorance, then sliding his hand up her arm, he allowed himself the liberty of caressing her neck. “If you and I were together, if you stayed with me forever, we could do this every single night.”

Her lips trembled when he touched her face, the intensity of the colourful patches on her cheeks deepening wherever his fingers wandered. “Ser Jaime--”

He edged his face closer to hers. “Tyrion asked you a question, my lady, for which I’m dying to know what your answer is.” When she remained bashfully quiet, he decided to make things clearer, to put an end to his misery once and for all. “Every word he said mirrors my heart, Brienne, and there’s nothing more I wish than to be with you every day, to kiss you, to spend each night in your arms.”

A shy smile appeared on her lips, but she still refrained from granting him a direct answer.

“Build a life with me, wench,” he pressed on, letting his breath mingle with hers. “Grant me the privilege of a dance I’d have with none but you. Tell me you feel the same, that you love me as much as I love--”

“I do,” she softly admitted, her fingers teasing the nape of his neck. “I’d very much like to have this dance with you, ser, every single night, for the rest of my life.”

He sealed her mouth with his, her delicious lips, the sweetest he’d tasted, the kiss, the most wonderful he’d engaged in, a perfect close to the best dance he’d ever had.

A perfect beginning, it was, to the life that awaited him, the most priceless gift he’d received in all the forty such days he’d lived to see.

  
  



End file.
